“I’m f—”
She narrowed her eyes, daring him to sayI’m fineone more time.
He cleared his throat and motioned with a hand toward his half-stitched wound. “Please continue.”
She hesitated, turning her head to view him from the corner of her eye as if that might help her see through his bullshit. She must’ve been satisfied with what she saw—confirming he could have had a job on the stage—because after a second, she bent back to her work.
He blew out a covert breath and curled one hand around the edge of his chair, gripping the wood so hard he was surprised he didn’t splinter it. “We’re your neighbors,” he told Ranger Rick through his clenched jaw.
“Huh?” Rick’s youthful face scrunched up.
“We live on Wayfarer Island.”
“Ah, the six retired Navy SEALs who are looking for the lost treasure of theSanta Cristina.”
Bran lifted a brow.
“News travels fast in the Keys,” Rick clarified.
Ain’t that the truth?
Every time Bran made a supply run to Key West, some new stranger walked up to him and asked how the hunt was going. The Florida Keys were unique in that a person could disappear in them, just fall off the edge of the map as long as they kept a low profile. But keeping a low profile was damn near impossible when searching for a legendary treasure.
“But I don’t understand,” Ranger Rick said. He’d moved over to take Bran’s position by the front window, but he wasn’t watching the fort. He was eyeing Bran. “Why are youhere?With machine guns? Killing people?” The young ranger had turned a milky shade of white at that last question. “I-I mean, that man out there…” Rick swallowed, and the sound his throat made was strangely loud inside the tight confines of the cottage despite the low rumble of the generator outside that supplied juice to the few electronics. “Heisdead, right?”
“Graveyard dead,” Bran admitted without a hint of remorse.
“Oh, forgive us,” Rick murmured, crossing himself.
“Forgiveness is between him and God,” Bran insisted. “It was my job to arrange the meeting.”
“Man on Fire,” Maddy blurted.
Despite everything, Bran felt himself smiling.Thiswas their thing. Intoxicating physical chemistry, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings aside, they shared a mad love for the cinema.
“Huh?” Rick blinked, his face doing that scrunchy thing again.
“They’re here because I invited them,” Maddy said, forgoing an explanation for their brief tangent.
The blood loss was making Bran a little light-headed. And when he dragged in a steadying breath, Maddy’s sweet scent—that intoxicating aroma of fruit and berries he remembered so well—invaded his nostrils, making him grip the seat for a whole new reason.
Whydid he have such a reaction to her? And how was he supposed to continue to fight it?
By remembering what the alternative is.
Annnnnddddd…there was that.
“I was hopin’ they’d stop by tonight and regale the girls with stories of theSanta Cristina,” Maddy added.
Mention of the teenagers had her swallowing what Bran knew was a lump in her throat. But that’s all she allowed. Just that tiny indication she wasn’t as fine as she seemed.
“As for the machine guns…” she continued, only to trail off and bite her bottom lip when a particular stitch caused her trouble. She finally managed to tie off the thread—much to Bran’s relief—and finished with, “You got me.” She turned inquisitive eyes up to him. “Whydoyou guys run around Rambo-style all the time?”
“Old habits are hard to break,” he allowed.
That seemed to be explanation enough because she nodded and turned back to finish the last two stitches.
“We were about two miles out when we heard the gunshots,” Bran told Rick. “And we decided we better drop anchor, swim over, and investigate.”
